


The Eurovision Part of Town

by Fandomfishie (SvenskaFishes)



Series: The Eurovision Part of Town [1]
Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF
Genre: Eurovision Song Contest 2014, Eurovision Song Contest 2015, Eurovision Song Contest 2016, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-06-09 01:25:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 8,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6883381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SvenskaFishes/pseuds/Fandomfishie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rambly description of an imaginary Eurovision downtown-ish area where old and new Eurovision artists live and work. Welcome to the Eurovision part of town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Original Post (the Bar, the Casino, and the Strip Club)

**Author's Note:**

> This might make more sense if you read the inspiration [HERE](http://fandomfishie.tumblr.com/post/143838750217/magicaleurovision-slightlyintimidating) on my ESC tumblr, as this is where the ideas for the original parts of town came from. They're not my ideas, but I ran with it and hopefully made something you can enjoy.
> 
> I'm so conflicted over RPF that this is waaaay out of my comfort zone, but generally speaking [everything here is completely Open Source](http://fandomfishie.tumblr.com/post/144297569757/come-play-in-my-sandbox) and you are free to play with the ideas herein as you like. I'm also up for requests, questions, collaborations, etc. I'll be slowly migrating the ficlets I've already written from my Tumblr over to here this week.
> 
>  **Standard disclaimer for all chapters:** This is not meant to be sent to anyone involved in Eurovision in any official capacity - not an artist especially. Mentioning it on a fansite/group or something should be okay as long as you talk to me first.
> 
> Also, don’t expect tons of accuracy to real life here, I don't have much life experience so this is all imagination. And quite a few Eurovision artist relationships and facts in this are made up, not everything correlates to real things. While the characters are based on real people, they are not meant to be those people, only fictional characters in a fan-made universe.

The casino is the first thing people notice when they leave the tourist centre, eyes wide and blinking in the slowly darkening dusk. The building glows broad and tall and bright, smooth music drifting gently from several open windows, the sound of cheering. Beside it, halfway-hidden in the shadows, is a sleek black structure, unmarked except for a pair of wolves spraypainted in a shiny silver on the door.

Down the street, a warm light shines, inviting, and from a window inside, a man with a huge smile waves encouragingly, even though it’s possible he can barely see the people entering the Eurovision part of town from that angle and distance.

(Those who grabbed city info pamphlets in the tourist centre glance down at them and toss them away in mild disgust. Christer Björkman’s face is all over them, and the only useful information is about Frans’ coffeehouse on the other side of town.)

Those who head into the bar first get the warmest welcome. Douwe Bob greets them personally, relief and gratitude shining in his eyes, and he treats them like long-lost family. It feels like everyone is here - Francesca’s sitting on a stool and chatting with him in between greeting new patrons, Amir is laughing in the corner… Douwe Bob flits between everyone, somehow balancing his attentions perfectly, sliding in and out of conversations like a pro.

There’s a man who always seems to be at the bar. He usually starts off at a table alone, but then he’s up and leaning over the counter to chat, dragging up a chair to a table, sliding onto a bench across from someone, eyes crinkling at the corners. In a soft but rough voice, he orders a round for everyone. At the resulting cheers, he tips his white hat in acknowledgement. It seems like he knows everybody, and nobody knows him. He might even be able to guess your favorite drink.

Those who head toward the casino meet a young man with an astonishingly deep voice. He’s the owner, and if you’re a VIP he knows how to treat you very well. A blond man with a puppydog smile and a leather jacket shifts on his feet as he oversees the slot machines, occasionally bouncing up to Jüri to converse. Donny Montell works the pits and shares glances with the other two during the quieter moments. They work like a well-oiled machine.

If the tourists take their chances at the casino, they might end up playing next to a man in a white hat. He always engages in friendly conversation before tossing down a few more bills.

And if a tourist is really lucky, the man in the white hat will wink at them, and will quietly tell them a password.

The password gets you in to the black building, the one hiding in the shadows, the one with the wolves on the door. The password gets you a discount on the entry fee. And the impossibly tall man with long blond hair and white paint on his face grins wide as he slides around a pole, the live wolves prowling around his legs, and the man in the white hat sits in the farthest corner staring off into the distance, eyes crinkled at the corners.

Some say if you want to visit the Eurovision part of town, the best person to find is the man in the white hat. He’ll get you everything you need. He’s everybody’s casual acquaintance. He can get you in anywhere. I wish I’d known that when I visited.

But I didn’t know.


	2. The Coffeehouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Those who grabbed city info pamphlets in the tourist centre glance down at them and toss them away in mild disgust. Christer Björkman’s face is all over them, and the only useful information is about Frans’ coffeehouse on the other side of town._

The coffeehouse is on the far side of The Eurovision Part Of Town. A bit closer to the local university, a bit farther from the casino and other less… tasteful places in the city. Frans remembers the way Christer Björkman’s hand curled around his shoulder when they decided on the location, the way the weight felt. It’s like that all the time now - this weight. There are lots of expectations, and even though the coffeehouse is doing well, it’s not doing well enough, and all of Björkman’s hopes and dreams are about to come crashing down.

Björkman has fingers in a lot of pies in the city, it’s been this way for the past year at least, but there’s no doubt that Frans is his little pet project. He visits often, ordering something in the biggest size cup they have, but he never has time to stay and listen to the current entertainer, or chat with Rykka, or check in with Frans.

It’s fine though. They’re only a little bit stressed. Honest.

Frans has a naturally laid-back personality, so he keeps chugging along, managing the world behind the counter and ringing people up (he’s stopped saying sorry when he makes a mistake, either from growing confidence or stress nobody can tell). Rykka’s a bit jumpy, but then she serves someone and they give that satisfied orgasm moan that always happens when someone drinks her coffee, or Hovi Star comes in to distract her from her job with the latest gossip, and things go back to being alright.

There’s a betting pool going on. She knows all about it but will deny everything. Her hair is currently blue, but it’ll be another color next week, just like every week.

Laura Tesoro won last week (guessing blue) and got three free cups of coffee out of it, which she used up almost in a single day. There’s a lot of pressure on Laura, too: exams are coming up, and she’s spending every afternoon glued to the comfiest couch near the power outlets so she can have her laptop plugged in and her headphones on. (Sometimes Frans does his homework right beside her, and they curl up back to back. They have a dorky little “teamwork!” fistbump thing going on). She’ll take the time to stop and chat with anyone who gets close enough, though, so it’s generally agreed upon to give her her space so she’ll get it all done.

She takes the headphones off on Thursday nights though. Everyone does. In among the many slam poets and wannabe folk stars, it’s everyone’s favorite moment when Nina goes onstage. She rocks it in the acoustic coffeehouse setting, Freddie on guitar at her side. The whole house sits rapt and listens.

And off in the corner, applauding as loudly as the rest when she finishes a song, is a man in a white hat, who takes a sip of his coffee and grins, eyes crinkling at the edges. He always leaves the biggest tips.


	3. The Hotel and the Restaurant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I wanna talk about the older buildings in town, the ones whose new-building smell has left. Polina Gagarina’s hotel, the one with a million rooms, fancy and upscale with glass everywhere and projections on the walls._
> 
> _And there’s Mørland & Debrah Scarlett’s fancy restaurant. Something happens every week and it ends in a dramatic food fight. They’re still together anyway, even though every week he goes to Douwe Bob’s bar and declares he’s going to leave for her own good. _

Polina owns the swanky hotel near the casino. If you go on the internet, and search hotels in The Eurovision Part Of Town by price, then inverse that search so the most expensive ones are on top… hers would be first.

When visitors walk in to the foyer, they usually go a little breathless. The place is always kept just a tad dark so the projections shining on the walls and floors are more visible. Waves of color and beautiful twinkling sparkles float across a million surfaces. There’s a lot of glass. There’s a lot of space. It can make you a little lightheaded.

Sometimes, when a projector breaks, it’s Sergey’s job to climb up and tinker around with things. He’s used to climbing all over and heights barely seem to faze him. Sometimes it’s cool just to stand around and watch him maneouver his way up the screens, watch the light play over him as he moves, hear the way he sings to himself as he works. (Half the time he tinkers with this stuff, the other half he performs for the guests in the fancy dining hall during their expensive dinners. Sometimes Polina finds the time to join him. They’re great together).

The man in the white hat always has a room next to you, somehow. He’s usually the one to point out the fountain behind the hotel, visible from almost every window. Local traditions say to toss a coin in the fountain and pray for peace and healing.

That fountain is a great place to rekindle love, too. To start again. Mørland and Debrah Scarlett are there at least once a month, and sometimes Elina Born follows, the dog leash clenched tight in her fist.

They live nearby. Mørland and Debrah have a restaurant that offers a slightly cheaper alternative to the restaurant in Polina’s hotel, although it’s much more likely to end in a food fight. It advertises itself as pretty upscale, but warns not to wear your best clothes just in case. (Mørland and Debrah always start it).

They rent out some apartments above the restaurant, mostly to couples. Monika Linkytė and Vaidas Baumila live there happily, sometimes providing accidental couples counseling to Mørland and Debrah. Lead by example, and such. (They’re disgustingly happy together and it’s sickening).

Elina and Stig were a happy couple when they rented their flat, but he left in the middle of the night not that long ago. It’s a little awkward now, being the only single person, but at least she still has the dog. And she can get out her frustrations by flinging food in someone’s face, which is always a plus.

(There was a food fight last night. The only person spotless at the end was a man in a white hat, who ordered one of the more expensive dishes and patted Debrah on the hand comfortingly when Mørland lowered his eyes in guilt once again).


	4. The Fashion, The Crime, The Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hovi Star, whose store is too expensive for almost anyone, but Jüri and the rest of his casino staff are all regularly outfitted by him. (They get the fireworks from him too, not always exactly legally, for the biggest holiday celebrations, shooting them off from their building over the rest of the Eurovision Part Of Town but nobody can prove it was them, especially not the head of the police force Eduard Romanyuta although he tries.)_

Hovi Star makes clothes.

But not just any clothes. Clothes covered in crystals. Nice tailored suits. Things that cost thousands of euro, which for the most part are too expensive for people living in the Eurovision part of town, with the exception of Polina and Sergey.

Most of Hovi Star’s business comes from the Baltic Boys and their staff. Jüri wants a well-dressed casino, and they have the money for it, so he splurges. (Justs clings to his jeans and jackets, strings swinging wildly, but Jüri is slowly breaking him down.)

Hovi Star makes clothes.

And, if you ask the right questions, he’ll slide you some fireworks too.

But not just any fireworks, the expensive kind, the big kind. The kind that is more than slightly illegal.

The Baltic Boys like to stock up on them for the holidays, when they shoot them from the roof of the casino. And they should get in trouble for it - they would, in fact, if the chief of police wasn’t too busy hanging out at Ivan’s strip club. Eduard Romanyuta is both the best and the worst kind of police chief: you can get away with anything in the Eurovision part of town. But _you can get away with anything in the Eurovision part of town._

And people do get away with anything.

Poli Genova is the criminal mastermind in The Eurovision part of town. (She’s good, really good, and leaves almost no trace behind when she commits a crime - except a note. “They Will Never Break Us Down”. No one has figured out why quite yet.)

The last place she cased was an art gallery owned by a certain Icelandic artist named Greta Salóme whose shadow paintings are quite well known. It’s a little ways from Frans’ coffeshop, and they tend to get the same sort of hipster patrons. She often stops by for a cup before heading home.

Everybody seems to know everybody in the Eurovision part of town. Especially the man in the white hat, who smiles kindly at Greta the night after her gallery is robbed and buys the most expensive piece of art she has left. She offers to get him a coffee in thanks, and they spend the night listening to Nina and Freddie. By the time they leave, Frans’s coffeehouse has an expensive shadow art piece on the wall, given as a donation by a kind patron.


	5. The Returners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _People move in and out of the Eurovision part of town. But you never really leave._

People move in and out of the Eurovision part of town. But you never really leave.

Take Kaliopi - she had a bakery, black-and-white themed, it was pretty cool. Set up shop downtown, somewhere over near what is now Douwe Bob’s bar, and had a booming business. Then, after a year, she drifted off to somewhere else for a while.

The shop stayed empty. It was like a big gaping hole in the city - windows barred, lights dark, drawing people’s eyes as they walked past. The sign over the door had been painted over, but her name was still there, the outline visible if you looked at the right angle to see the shadows. Her ghost lingered, awkwardly.

Now she’s back and she specializes in donuts.

Most people, when they move back in - because people do, this is the kind of city that leaves its marks like a stamp on your soul, and lingers in the back of your mind, and it changes you irrevocably - they have to buy up a new place, start all over again. Kaliopi got lucky, and she slid right back in as if she’d never left.

(She brings donuts to karaoke night at Douwe Bob’s bar).

Donny Montell doesn’t talk about it much, but he’s been here for a while. He used to work in a part of the building in which the casino currently runs. It was a disco club. It’s long gone, but the echoes still remain if he looks out of the corner of his eyes.

Greta came back too. She was a budding shadow artist back then, working with handprints and making pieces that stirred the soul with a feeling of intense longing. Love pieces. Pieces about memories, souls ripped apart.

(Looking back, she’d rather forget that period in her life, but she never can.)

Poli Genova is another one, people think. One of the returners. It’s hard to know, because she operates so far in the shadows. But you get a feeling. She’s very familiar.

The man in the white hat is new, came in with the current cycle, but it _feels_ like he’s been in the Eurovision part of town since forever. He knows everyone. He gets in everywhere.

And there are times when he visits the casino and casts a short glance over to a certain side of the pits, where the biggest renovations had taken place to expand the building, and there’s this look in his eyes as if he’s a million miles away. And if you lean in close enough you might be able to hear him whisper, _“I miss the disco.”_


	6. The Tweets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Everyone has a signature song, a tune, a melody that drifts through their skin and their veins until it bursts out in a heady rush._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by tumblr user Aprilskyforever, [here](http://fandomfishie.tumblr.com/post/143935153847/aprilskyforever-he-captioned-this-on-twitter). (Note: most tweets are fake).

**Douwe Bob** @douwe_bob 4h  
@j_pootsmann You should visit the opening night of my bar! See you there?

 **Jüri Pootsmann** @j_pootsmann 1m  
@douwe_bob Of course, but you have to visit the casino next! :)

.

That’s how it starts.

Douwe Bob slides into town, manages to finagle the twitter handles of half the population in the span of several hours, and invites everyone to the opening of his new bar.

Everyone.

The owner of the shady strip club, the college students and local hipsters that come to chill in the coffeehouse across town, the guy washing dishes in the back room of that weird restaurant, the librarian.

(He’s _really_ excited for this bar.)

Names are slow in burning themselves into his brain. He gets faces first - molded cheeks, bright hair, wide eyes, he keeps track of who is who by the way they smile and the tones they hum to themselves.

Everyone has a signature song, a tune, a melody that drifts through their skin and their veins until it bursts out in a heady rush. It’s what makes the Eurovision part of town… the Eurovision part of town. Music is everywhere.

Before he knows Amir as Amir, he knows him as the curly haired guy singing in soft slidey french syllables, bursting out into joyful tune at just the right moments. Francesca is small, a perfect smile, subdued and soulful.

And Sergey, before Douwe Bob learnes his name, is the guy with the intense, slightly pitched-high voice bursting right out of his chest that makes everyone sit up and listen. He’s a people person, charismatic, born to perform.

.

 **Douwe Bob** @douwe_bob 43m  
Hey @sergeylazarev, wanna play a game of pool today?

 **Сергей Лазарев** @sergeylazarev 29m  
@douwe_bob Sounds like fun!! I’m free in a few hours…

.

Twitter becomes Douwe Bob’s easiest way to get the word out about things, Bar-Related Things especially, like the new pool table. He wants to break it in and Sergey seems like a fun guy.

Sergey is good, really good. He beats Douwe in no time at all. And again, and again, until Douwe gives up and Sergey smirks. Sergey becomes King of the Pool Table, and none dare challenge him or risk getting their asses handed to them.

And Douwe Bob ends up in a series of trades once Jüri opens the floodgates to those kinds of responses - he has a fun time at the casino for sure, and he spends afternoons eating at the restaurants, lending a hand at the library, walking Elina’s dog. He gets to know the soul of the city through its people. Then everyone comes flooding in to the bar of their own volition and he’s back in his element mixing drinks and sliding from table to table, picking up and dropping conversations smoothly as he keeps everyone happy.

The ebb and flow of conversations as he walks by all sound like music.

(The man in the white hat has a rough, quiet voice, often drowned out by other noises. His song is so soft that Douwe wonders what it must be like. The guy seems friendly though. They haven’t talked a whole lot, and when they do it’s always about Douwe or goings-on in town, and Douwe still hasn’t gotten his name. May never get his name.

Douwe doesn’t know the guy’s twitter, either, and that’s _by far_ the absolute worst part.)


	7. The Salon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Then there’s Twin Twin: the small squad of men in short shorts, ugly patterned ties, and sneakers. They spend most of their time in the back room watching gameshows and tossing popcorn at the screen. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was prompted by tumblr user Slightlyintimidating [here](http://fandomfishie.tumblr.com/post/143983972627/also-while-i-am-relistening-to-eurovision-2014-if).

When you go to the salon in the Eurovision part of town, you’ll find bright colors, blinking lights, drag queens, shoulderpads, and men wearing short shorts and sneakers. It’s like walking backwards into another dimension loosely inspired by the eighties.

It’s also much bigger than the usual salons you find in any other part of town. This salon has _specialists._

Your beard getting just a bit too long? Conchita Wurst, drag queen and local beard expert has you covered. (Don’t let her near the eyeliner or you’ll walk out an hour later, blinking in confusion, beautifully drawn wings razor-sharp above your newly trimmed facial hair, lips tinted in The Perfect Color For You. A color you’ll never find again no matter how hard you look).

Then there’s Twin Twin: the small squad of men in short shorts, ugly patterned ties, and sneakers. They spend most of their time in the back room watching gameshows and tossing popcorn at the screen. (They never know any of the quiz answers, but they still defiantly dream about winning a car, or a house, or…) They act a bit immature, people say, and it might be karma why none of them are able to grow facial hair.

…but if you have a moustache, they can work wonders. You will never find a more elegantly-moustached population than that of the Eurovision part of town.

(While they work on your moustache with their unprecedented skill, they’ll stare at it rather obsessively, though, as if they want to take it themselves. A strange jealousy seem to have been brewing inside them slowly, for years, and local gossip says that one day one of them is going to lose it and an unsuspecting customer will walk out moustacheless. A tragedy just waiting to happen.)

Of course, if you go to a salon, you’re probably mainly looking to get your hair cut and styled, a service provided by two bouncy blond twins collectively known as Jedward. Their signature style involves sticking a customer’s hair straight up with gravity-defying determination - but if that’s not your cup of tea, they have more in their repertoire. They bounce around the space like moonmen, limbs flying everywhere, uncoordinated but somehow ending up exactly where they need to be without knocking anything over. They are unrelentingly positive, and if nothing else you come out of a haircut feeling refreshed and energetic.

(Your eyes might be a little sore from Twin Twin’s bright colors, or the sparkles on Jedward’s shoulderpads, but it’s a small price to pay for a good mood that lingers in your chest and eases the knots in your shoulders.)

It’s an expensive service, all these different people performing extremely specialized tasks, but when you come out of it looking like Hovi Star instead of Rona Nishliu you’re grateful. It pays to be stylish in the Eurovision part of town.

(The man in the white hat comes in every two weeks to get a very small trim, tips generously, and somehow ends up in the back room watching TV with Twin Twin. He knows all the answers to all the questions and Twin Twin both love and hate him. They decide he’ll be on their team whether he wants to or not, one day after they’ve finally been accepted to play on a gameshow.

The man in the white hat has a moustache. It’s fine though. Everything’s fine.)


	8. The Models

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Those closest to her have the privilege of hearing her weave magic into her words. She has a gift with them, really, a way of picking the right vowels that just pop in her mouth like candy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by an anon [here](http://fandomfishie.tumblr.com/post/144034041787/can-u-get-aminata-involved-in-the-eurovision-part). I love Stock Photo Aminata.

A young woman sits on a stool on a small stage. A spotlight shines down on her from somewhere off to the side, darkening the shadows on her soft skin, and she takes a breath in the stifling silence.

She starts off gently. Her voice is barely audible even with everyone holding their breath, balancing on the edge of a knife and barely risking a single movement. If they didn’t know her better, if she wasn’t a regular here, they’d wonder if she wanted to be here at all, or if she wanted to be heard.

Those closest to her have the privilege of hearing her weave magic into her words. She has a gift with them, really, a way of picking the right vowels that just pop in her mouth like candy and a way of drawing pictures in one’s mind with sparkling clarity.

Everyone’s leaning in, trying to catch the little pieces of it they can snatch, when there’s suddenly a shift in the air. And everyone knows what’s coming-

Her voice swells and fills the room now, every distant corner and every tiny crack in the wall. The woman who once seemed so tiny and shy is now a powerhouse. She belts out every line with precise enunciation, evoking a powerful sensation of all-consuming love.

Aminata does the best slam poetry.

This is where she is on Thursdays, wedged in between the puppet guy and Nina in the roster of hipster artists wanting to start their creative career the only way they can think of. Frans’ coffeehouse is small, but at least it’s something.

Performing on the tiny stage of the coffeehouse once a week for twenty minutes doesn’t exactly pay the bills, though. By day, she’s a model for a stock photo company. You don’t have to live in the Eurovision part of town to see Aminata everywhere you go - don’t be surprised if you see her in the grocery store, on your back-to-school shopping spree, or waving to you from the front page of some sort of promotional picture.

(Most of the time, the stuff they ask her to do isn’t that weird, but occasionally she’ll have to pose with a watermelon or something and she’ll start questioning every decision she’s ever made in her life.)

Conchita has a bit of a modeling gig there, too, on her days off from the salon. It barely even qualifies as part time - just once in a great while really - but she’s damn good at it. Aminata’s usually asked to pose naturally, real smiles and laughs, complicated setups involving buses or groups of people. Conchita gets fancy dresses and artful poses.

They both like to get coffee together after their shift to catch up and talk about the latest gossip. Conchita’s got her ear to everything, after all. You can’t get away with much in this part of town.

(They usually pass by a man in a white hat coming in and out of the modeling agency. They’ve never seen what he does so they have no idea, but he usually does the _really weird_ stock photos, like the ones with people using clothing irons as telephones or sitting out on railroad tracks in a rocking chair while drinking tea. The one he did yesterday involved being blindfolded in a room full of disco balls.)


	9. The Unlucky Dentist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Amir’s been doing an informal but totally legit study on this and the evidence is overwhelming: The man in the white hat is unequivocally bad luck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This ficlet comes from](http://fandomfishie.tumblr.com/post/144447418522/the-unlucky-dentist) Red Carpet commentary/suggestions by tumblr users Jurivevo (currently Justiceforjuri), Slightlyintimidating, and a suggestion by Aprilskyforever as well. Poor Amir.

Although it seems like Amir is always at Douwe Bob’s bar - pop in anytime and give him a wave, he’ll wave cheerily back - he actually has a nine-to-five. Or something resembling that, anyways. He’s the nicest dentist this side of town, and things are going great, like they always do. Almost always.

There’s… there’s this guy who comes in sometimes.

Far more frequently than necessary.

He’s got pretty nice teeth, all told, and takes great care of them so he doesn’t really benefit from all the cleanings he gets. Money is still money, though, and normally Amir wouldn’t mind. It’s just… when the man in the white hat comes in, things go terribly.

Amir will never understand why this guy isn’t universally feared all over town. Amir’s been doing an informal but totally legit study on this and the evidence is overwhelming: The man in the white hat is unequivocally bad luck. You can tell when a Man In The White Hat Day is coming a mile away because Bad Things start happening at an increasingly frequent rate.

He wakes up in the morning having slept through his alarm. He gets out of bed and trips several times as he shrugs on his clothes. The coffee machine stops working. That one kid from the casino - the one who looks kinda like a golden retriever - longboards by the house just as Amir accidentally slams face-first into the window while half-asleep, and both stop and stare at each other for a few seconds in astonishment.

The day just gets worse from there, and that’s how Amir can tell it’s a Man In The White Hat Day.

The thing about this particular brand of bad luck, the only good thing in this, is that it never actually causes Amir serious injury. Not even financially. None of the expensive equipment gets broken when Amir opens something and it goes flying everywhere. The pants that split when Amir bends over are ones he was just about to throw out anyways.

It’s not harmful. Not even particularly distressing most of the time, except when something really embarassing happens. But it still sends a chill down Amir’s spine - no one man should have this much power.

Amir talks about this when he’s drunk sometimes. Not often, he doesn’t want to be known as the Conspiracy Guy, but it’s hard not to let it all come spilling out when he’s had a bit to loosen the cogs in his throat. Nobody believes Amir: this hat guy, nobody really knows his name, they know him by his crinkly eyes and his clothing choices, this guy is universally thought of as _nice_ and _friendly_ and _companionable._ Nobody else is living in the same odd circle of purgatory, unable to escape, unable to scream.

Which is why Amir is the only one who notices when the man in the white hat stops visiting his dentist office.

(He gets it in the mail five months later: an invitation to a free teeth cleaning. SERHAT, the name reads, and apparently he started his own dentistry in town. Amir would be ready for a fight but this is one he knows in his bones he’s not about to win. It’s okay. The man in the white hat won’t have time to come by if he’s busy at work. It’ll be awkward, now, or Amir can _make_ it awkward since they’re officially rivals.

Amir has been here longer. He keeps the loyal ones. There’s always an influx of new people to town and they usually flock to the _other one._ It’s fine. It’s all fine.

It’s not, but when Amir gets up on time and makes himself a nice cup of coffee for the three-hundred-sixty-fifth time in a row, he considers it a victory.)


	10. The Nightclub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Loïc Nottet used to have a nightclub._

Loïc Nottet used to have a nightclub.

It was a bit near where Douwe Bob’s bar is, back when the bar belonged to Koza Mostra - until he ran it into the ground with his unique fiscal policy - and a lot of people liked to get a little buzzed before going dancing, or the other way around. It was all good.

The nightclub was called Rhythm. You can probably see where this is going.

Poli Genova usually strikes when the person can most afford it, she’s a polite sort of criminal that way, but she must have miscalculated. Loïc was about to make a lease payment when he found himself flat broke. And then he couldn’t build back up in time for the next month, and then it was gone.

Maraaya owns it now. It’s still called Rhythm, but the music is slightly different. A little less electropop, a little more indie. Loïc’s saving up to buy it back. For good this time. But until then, he’s lost his Rhythm and gone from DJing at the city’s most popular nightclub to washing dishes in the back room of Mørland & Debrah’s restaurant.

And washing the floor. And the walls. And everything else that needs to be washed.

Douwe Bob wasn’t around when Loïc lost his nightclub, but when you arrive in the Eurovision part of town you get filled in on local history pretty fast. Loïc’s first drink is always free, especially when the music from the nearby building is audible enough to drag the corners of the young man’s mouth down, to start his hand shaking.

Sometimes there’s karaoke at Douwe Bob’s bar, and Loïc is usually the first one to start. Usually, its something upbeat. On the bad nights, it’s something Sia: Chandelier or Elastic Heart.

When Douwe Bob holds karaoke, people filter in one by two by three until the city is practically empty. Frans closes early to give himself and Rykka some time to catch a bus across town. Polina leaves her hotel in the hands of the night staff. Even the casino shuts down for a few hours - at this point, any gamblers know better than to complain.

There’s something special about the Eurovision part of town, because everyone can sing, can sing really well, and on karaoke night they trade off each other’s signature songs like trading cards. Amir sings Heroes to a soulful strum of Freddie’s guitar, while Sandhja’s already tapping out the beat of her song because she’s next. Nina and Rykka lean together and talk about hair - Nina’s head is turned so Rykka can see the waves cut into the side. She’s nodding appreciatively. Halfway across the bar, Elnur Hüsneynov and Ivan are discussing something under their breaths, a wolf curled up across both their laps.

It’s nice. And peaceful.

And then the bell at the door rings just as Amir finishes, Freddie drags out the last note, and every head turns.

Two young lads stroll in, waving amiably. “Hey,” the spiky-haired one greets them all in a clearly English accent, “mind if we have a go?”

The man in the white hat is leaning forward in his seat, conversation with Ira Losco nearly forgotten. Here is someone new, and they don’t look like tourists.

They look like they belong in the Eurovision part of town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further adventures of Joe & Jake coming soon in another installment in the series as part of the New ABBA storyline. Check out the series main page sometime in the future to read more.
> 
> Also, [Amir's cover of Heroes.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eo95EwBNFKI)


	11. The Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The library is stout and noble-looking, greek columns rising up sturdily out of the sleek stone floors, old enough that it feels like stumbling back in time when you step inside. Old enough and warm enough and well-loved enough that, if a building could have laugh-lines, this one would._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by an anon [here](http://fandomfishie.tumblr.com/post/144551284107/what-do-jamala-and-genealogy-do-in-eurovision-part)

The library is the oldest building in town. It’s somewhere right in the middle, among the slick modern buildings that kiss the clouds and reflect the sky down to those strolling by.

The library is stout and noble-looking, greek columns rising up sturdily out of the sleek stone floors, old enough that it feels like stumbling back in time when you step inside. Old enough and warm enough and well-loved enough that, if a building could have laugh-lines, this one would.

The library is huge. You have to swim across the floor through waves of shelves and carts and bright-colored beanbags to get to who you want to see. And the person you want to see is Jamala.

Jamala is the local history buff. She knows the history of the town and the story of her own family like the back of her hand. She teaches little kids when their parents are off browsing the shelves. She chats with the teenagers who have school assignments to complete, nudging them in new directions and helping them condense what they have. She sits with the elderly and listens to their stories. She’s the shining star of the library.

When you need to look up your own family history, the genealogy department’s got you covered. The team of six are distantly related, had been scattered across continents and brought together through shared research. Now they’re hoping to help others to connect in the same way. You can sift through the branches of your family tree here, dig your toes into the soil and find your roots.

The library is filled with the echoes of the past. Silent echoes.

Dami Im is the head librarian and she wants to hear nothing but the sound of silence. The first time she belted something out at karaoke night, though, everyone’s mind was blown. She’s got serious vocals.

There’s a picture she’s got pinned to her computer that she stares at longingly whenever she’s not absorbed in something work related. There’s someone she’s missing. No matter how strict she is about quiet in her library, you have to remember she’s carrying a burden in her heart.

There are others here too: Laura Tesoro shelves books here sometimes. It’s her part-time job and she loves it. Her weekend aerobics classes are right nearby so it’s easy to bring her gym bag with her to work and then change in a bathroom.

You’ll find the occasional Aarzemnieki sleeping in a beanbag, cookbook face-down on top of their slowly rising and falling chest. They’re world famous for doing lots of things - you can’t remember any right off the top of your head, but you know that they’ve done them. They’re always buried in the cookbooks.

The whole town filters in and out throughout the days. It’s a nice place to sit and rest in the air conditioning if nothing else, if you aren’t drawn to the old books with battered covers or the shiny ones on the New Arrivals shelf. They have the best collection of CDs and DVDs this side of town. If media’s not your thing, though, if it’s not your cup of tea, at least it’s a good place to longboard through. Just ask Justs.

Or if you need a book recommendation, ask the man in the white hat. He comes here on weekends sometimes, checks out a healthy mix of old and new novels, and tips his hat to Dami. He’s read through a sturdy amount of the library’s collection and can point you exactly where you need to go. He can recommend you a book that will set all your nerves on fire with excitement, or make you laugh, or teach you something useful. He always seems to know exactly what you need.

(He grins at Genealogy when he passes. They stare back at him with wide eyes. He’s like a ghost - they know nothing about where he comes from, can’t trace his lineage back. He’s a mystery. It’s like he just sprung out of the ground, fully-formed, and it’s a tad creepy.)


	12. The Talent Agency, the Media, the Mayors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She’s the face of the city and she wears it well. She moves with grace and confidence. She was born for this._

Minus One, a group of ex-convicts gone good, run a talent agency. They supply everything from audiobook voices to models to up-and-coming TV stars. It’s a profitable venture, to be sure.

It’s where Aminata goes for her day job making stock photos. Conchita works there part-time doing glamour shots. They see Freddie sometimes when they come back from their coffee break: he’s a jeans model. There are so many attractive people in this town.

The Eurovision side of town has a radio station adjacent to (and generally run by) the talent agency. It broadcasts a special show on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays that covers local events and happenings around town. Everyone who is anyone tunes in as long as it’s not karaoke night at Douwe Bob’s bar. The radio show host is a bouncy and well-meaning lady by the name of Lynda Woodruff, who occasionally (er, perhaps not-so-occasionally) gets things wrong, or at least a little tilted, but she tries. The show is an EBU production and Lynda is an Official Spokesperson, which she frequently reminds listeners of, just in case they forgot.

Reporter Nicky Byrne works with her some evenings. He primarily works for a different branch of the EBU in town, the local TV station, but there’s often overlap and he comes in to fill in the blanks. She flirts with him the way she flirts with everyone else: unabashedly, clumsily, with a big grin on her face. Sometimes after he reports on her radio show, she returns the favor and appears on his broadcasts, maneuvering his mic away to ramble on with factually incorrect descriptions of whatever’s happening. If more serious things happened in the Eurovision part of town, it would be a problem, but for the most part this town is an accident- and crime-free area and Nicky reports on music festivals, new businesses, birthdays and anniversaries, markets out in the town square, more places that have banned longboarding after Justs rode through with a casual wave, and nearby marathons. He has a special 60-second portion of his broadcast dedicated specifically to talking about upcoming karaoke nights since they aren’t always a fixed day of the week.

He also has a special section for Petra to talk.

Petra Mede is second-in-command in the Eurovision part of town. Christer Björkman may make the decisions, but she’s the one who carries them out with flair and grace. As the mayor, Christer has a lot to do behind the scenes and he delegates well. Petra’s his deputy mayor, sometimes also his secretary, but she’s the one people see at business openings cutting those red ribbons. She’s the one photographers snap pics of, greeting officials from out-of-town. She’s the face of the city and she wears it well.

She moves with grace and confidence. She was born for this. Her smile lights up a room and she glows when she’s in front of an audience. She feels utterly honest no matter how many microphones and cameras are in her face and that’s why the people love her.

(Björkman, not so much. Some changes he makes, some things he does, they don’t always feel completely right to everyone. It’s okay though. As long as Petra is there, nothing too bad can happen, they think.)

Petra comes on Nicky’s broadcast to talk about the latest decisions at the mayor’s office and new developments behind the scenes. She grins and she jokes and her new co-deputy, Mans, laughs and banters with her like they’ve been doing this forever. He’s just started this job but the people love him already. The community remembers when he used to work in the local school system as a counselor: many bullied kids are okay today thanks to him. Lots of kids turned their life around and are doing just fine.

He’s always had a heart of gold. With Petra by his side, the town is flourishing more than ever. Everyone loves them, especially the man who tips his white hat every time they come on the radio or TV. It takes a lot to truly earn his respect, but those two have it unconditionally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The-New-ABBA-related epilogue:
> 
> (Poli meets Petra on a rainy sunday when on an assignment for Minus One. They smile right up to their eyes and then pass by. Poli’s heart is the only one that beats a mile a minute, because some part of her remembered just a second too late that she was smiling at one of her biggest enemies.
> 
> This taking-over-the-city thing can be terrifying sometimes. She’s courting danger more than ever before.)


	13. The Old Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There used to be a bar where all the alcohol was free. The bar belonged to Koza Mostra - until he ran it into the ground with his unique fiscal policy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by esc-is-for-eurovision on tumblr.

There used to be a bar where all the alcohol was free.

It stood right where Douwe Bob’s bar stands now. You can still see the skeleton of the old building gaping wide, warm light from the neon signs suffusing it from within. The walls have changed, the interior refurbished and reorganized, but the afterimages of Koza Mostra patrons still linger here if you’re old enough to remember.

Douwe Bob arrived long after they were gone, and he runs his bar with a bit more fiscal responsibility, but it was the first thing he was told when he got into town and people started noticing he was getting the building ready to go as a bar. Townies would come up to him in the street and ask him if he’d heard. Friendly - if a bit overbearing - concern.

Back then, Koza inherited the building from a family member and jumped in headfirst, started running things without considering the logistics. He had one particular core value burning in his soul: alcohol should be free. It was a well-meaning thought, truly, but it wasn’t executed well. Perhaps it was an impossible dream.

They did everything they could to stay afloat. Sold real, solid food, started specializing as a restaurant instead of a bar. Had only the first drinks free (which pained Koza to his very soul). The financial advisor he brought in, Agathonas Iakovidis, couldn’t fix what he’d broken, though. It was over almost before it began.

The people in town felt it like a whirlwind. A few weeks of free drinks and then a black hole in the middle of downtown. A broken sign, a locked door, a whispered legend. People took to brushing their palms across the faded words still painted on the windows - ALCOHOL IS FREE - as they passed by. A good luck charm, perhaps. A little tradition. A show of respect to the man with the impossible dream who followed his heart and then crashed, hard, like Icarus, for daring too much.

Douwe replaced the glass and donated the old windows to the local museum. Sequestered over in a hidden corner near the university, behind a copse of trees, the museum is a local treasure and showcases the historic parts of the Eurovision Part of Town. Everyone who moves in and out of this part of town leaves their marks in much the same way that the town leaves its marks on them. 

(You never really leave, because the town follows with you. You feel it in the way you see the world, the people you know, the memories that never seem to fade no matter how far away you get. Once you’re part of the family in the Eurovision part of town, you could come back even sixty years later and it would be like you’d never left.

It’s different for tourists. Most of them don’t understand. You have to live there and work there and have a dream, reach the highest heights or have the floor shatter beneath you as you fail. Tourists come and go, watching the locals as though through a screen or a pane of glass, and then go home feeling satisfied until the next time. It’s different.)

Come in. Take a seat. Order a drink. The alcohol isn’t free these days, but the stories are. The friendship is. The light is warm on your skin, the music is slow. Douwe Bob slides you a glass across the table. This city lives and breathes history, and you can hear it in the music, so relax and listen.


	14. The Pet Bakery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He gets used to teethmarks on the furniture and fur on his couch and doesn’t mind, because honestly he realizes it’s easier to live in the disarray than he thought it would be. He loves her, dirty paws and all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idea from tumblr user Joscaris and an anon. [The egg thing is from this video and the resulting memes.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-orVOUD25eI)

Sergey loves his job climbing around on the walls and working with the projectors, but at some point everything’s running a bit too smoothly and Polina’s taken over performing at the fanciest dinners and he has very little to do at the hotel nowadays. It’s part-time work at best.

He spends more and more time in his apartment, just… sitting around. Reading. Cooking. One day he’s too tired to drag a bunch of stuff from his fridge, so he just makes a ton of soft boiled eggs and goes to town. (It’s the start of an addiction and he regrets it.)

He wanders. Goes to the casino until he blows his budget then wanders back out. Visits every nightclub. Visits all his friends and sneaks away their eggs when they’re not looking. Out-sings almost everyone at karaoke night until he’s sweaty and exhausted and Dami Im finally stands up and grabs the mic. Gets up really early the next morning and lays down in the soft grass in the park. Stares at the sky. That cloud looks a bit like an egg, oh no now he’s hungry-

Elina Born smiles down at him. She holds out a hand to help him stand, and as he levers himself to his feet he notices the dog leash wrapped around her other wrist.

They walk and chat, idly, and without realizing it he’s followed her to her work at the shelter. While Elina hangs up her coat, he peeks around a corner curiously to see what’s causing the obnoxious barking. 

Soft black eyes are staring up at him from inside the kennel nearest the door and instantly his heart just melts. For the first time in a while, he feels like he _isn’t_ looking at the world through a thick pane of glass, head full of cotton. She’s _adorable._ She whines until he starts shuffling a little closer, arm outstretched. Elina’s hand on his shoulder brings him back to reality and things start to happen almost on autopilot.

He pulls out his credit card, does up the paperwork, deals with every step of the process, and names her Daisy. She’s cute and loveable and fills up the quiet moments in his life, and the loud moments, and all the little tiny cracks. He gets used to teethmarks on the furniture and fur on his couch and doesn’t mind, because honestly he realizes it’s easier to live in the disarray than he thought it would be. He loves her, dirty paws and all.

He joins Elina in walking their furry friends together and they spend a few afternoons strolling the dog park. (Samra joins them once or twice and they toss around the idea of a dog walkers’ association. Some sort of club maybe. The thought makes Sergey feel old and creaky right down to his bones, though, and he decides he’s not quite there yet.)

It’s great though. He feels like he has a purpose again, just a little, and it’s enough to keep him puttering along. He’s not a complicated sort of guy.

He’s a guy with very little strength of will, though. Because come dinnertime Daisy will tilt her little head, soulful eyes staring into his, and instantly he’ll be checking his carefully-penned list of Human Foods Appropriate For Dogs and then picking a piece off his plate for her. She’s shameless when it comes to begging for food. Soft-boiled eggs are both their favorites.

One night he gets an ice cream cake, just because, he’s an Adult and he can do things like that, and he’s slicing himself up the first piece when he looks down and sees her begging. His heart breaks. It’s not fair, he thinks, that he gets to eat cake and she can’t.

(He eats the cake but it sits badly in his stomach and he gives her extra treats in apology.)

He starts researching what kind of baked goods are okay for dogs. Somewhere along the way, he gets an idea and he starts running with it. Things kind of just happen. A few months later, he’s standing in an empty business space that’s his, about to start a bakery for pets, and Elina’s watching from the doorway with a smirk.

Polina’s okay with this. She’s happy for Sergey. He’s still going to come in occasionally if something breaks, they decide, but he’s not going to hold his breath. She’ll be fine without him.

There’s someone else who needs him now.

(He still steals eggs. It’s something he couldn’t stop now if he tried. He’ll be over at someone’s house, or walking Daisy past an open window and glancing through it into the kitchen, and his hands move without any conscious commands. No one could ever percieve innocent Sergey Lazarev being the cause of the impending egg shortage.

Sometimes he checks on his stash in the fridge and laughs maniacally just because he can. Some distant day there’s going to be a town potluck and he’ll bring over the best egg dishes ever created… and a bowl of soft-boiled ones will be clutched lovingly to his chest.)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The woman at the register has hair that flows down her shoulders in waves and she smiles bright when she hears the bell at the door ring. She offers miracles in her open palm._
> 
> _Do you want to make a wish?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by tumblr user actuallykatherineethel and someone on the google drive.

When you need something, a little extra luck or a little tiny curse, a little miracle or a little leg up, you come to the local shop for miracles and curiosities. It’s got crystals hanging in the window that glitter like the sunrise, and tiny molded knicknacks from all over the world piled higher than your head along well-dusted bookshelves. The walls and floors are glittery gold and reflect your own image back on yourself a million times over - so try not to look down.

The woman at the register has hair that flows down her shoulders in waves and she smiles bright when she hears the bell at the door ring. She offers miracles in her open palm.

Do you want to make a wish?

Samra will help with that. The stuff at the shop, the other stuff she sells, a lot of that has come from Ira Losco. Ira’s traveled all over the world and seen all the Wonders and brings back home what she can. She runs the skating rink but she has Sergej Ćetković to take it over when necessary.

Want an alligator tooth necklace from the US? Lucky bamboo from Africa? A spiritual doll from Central America? You can find it all here, handpicked by Ira.

If you want to read the stars, Samra will pick up her cell and call Lidia Isac over, because Lidia knows astrology better than anyone else in town. It comes from being part of the space program, maybe. Lidia will analyze compatibility or tell you your forecast. She’ll tell you more than you probably wanted to know and leave you with a sense of foreboding and anticipation.

Whether you needed Samra or Lidia, you’ll probably leave the shop feeling a little overwhelmed. Go get a shaved ice from Agnete and Renārs since you’re near the boardwalk. Listen to the sound of the water as it laps up against the wooden pillars. This part of town, away from all the bustle, is actually rather nice and peaceful.

The sun is warm on your skin. Breathe it in.

Before you leave this side of the Eurovision Part of Town, you should visit ManuElla’s paint shop. Michał is her new business partner and he’s great at helping people pick out colors. He knows just the right questions to ask.

Or you could stop by the bookstore. There’s a nice section on languages from all over the continent. A million books in so many different languages. The horror section is great, it made a popular book blogger’s Top Ten Bookshops specifically for that. You can browse the shelves for ages.

And, of course, it has a big manga section. Well-stocked and well-maintained. The person doing the maintaining is Jamie-Lee who works here part-time. (She really loves manga. Ask her anything. She’ll give you some great recs.) She has such a kind smile that goes all the way up to her eyes when you walk in.

There’s more to do on the boardwalk, of course, but after extricating yourself from the bookstore it’s probably time to head back into the main part of the city. Time to go get dinner at Mørland & Debrah’s restaurant. Maybe you’ll visit the Rhythm tonight, or finally dare to enter the strip club you somehow got the password for.

Whatever you decide, it’s going to be awesome.


End file.
